


The Taste of Your Honey's Sweet

by GreyMichaela



Series: Winnipeg Jets [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Smut, I tried to write PWP and ended up with fluff and feelings, M/M, respect of boundaries, this always happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 16:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18347000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: Brandon Tanev is perfect, and Adam doesn’t understand why the rest of the world doesn’t seem to see it.Adam’s not a complete idiot. He knows taste varies. He realizes that even among those attracted to cisgender men, there will be some who think Brandon isn’t hot, because their preferences run differently.Those people are stupid, in Adam’s opinion.





	The Taste of Your Honey's Sweet

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> All I'm saying is can Adam _really_ be blamed when Brandon's out here looking like this

Brandon Tanev is perfect, and Adam doesn’t understand why the rest of the world doesn’t seem to see it.

Adam’s not a complete idiot. He knows taste varies. He realizes that even among those attracted to cisgender men, there will be some who think Brandon isn’t hot, because their preferences run differently.

Those people are stupid, in Adam’s opinion.

 _Look at him,_ he thinks, and shakes his head. Brandon’s working on weights right now, brow furrowed in concentration as his spotter hovers right behind him. He’s wearing gym attire—shorts and a T-shirt that does nothing to hide his biceps—and Adam shifts his weight on the rowing machine. Brandon’s skin is glistening with sweat, his black hair spiky with it, mouth set as he lifts the bar and the trainer says something Adam doesn’t catch, and he’s the most beautiful person Adam has ever seen.

This thing between them is still new. They agreed to take it slow, in some weird flash of maturity that neither of them acknowledges. Adam thinks Brandon is just as afraid of fucking it up as he himself is, and that’s why he doesn’t push for more than Brandon offers.

It’s resulted in a lot of them eating dinner together, watching a movie and then falling asleep on the couch, Brandon warm and heavy against his side, drooling a little on Adam’s shirt. Adam loves the way Brandon looks grumpy even in his sleep, brows drawn together and mouth tucked in at the corners as he dreams. He loves the way he can touch Brandon’s brow and it will smooth out under his finger as Brandon shifts and gets comfortable.

Sometimes Brandon will pull him up off the couch and they’ll pad down the hallway to his bedroom in dreamy silence to curl up under the covers, Brandon’s arm draped around Adam’s waist and his breath warm on the base of his neck.

It’s also resulted in Adam jerking off kind of a lot more than usual. It’s not really his fault, he reasons. He’s a young man in the prime of his life, and since Brandon’s not ready to take it past the occasional handjob or languid makeout session, that means Adam has to find a release valve _somewhere._

He waits until he’s alone, even though that’s not as easy now that they’re practically in each other’s back pockets, and it never takes long. All he has to do is think about Brandon’s hands, or his mouth that’s so distractingly sweet when he’s not scowling, or the way his back muscles are so defined Adam can see them under his T-shirt, and—

 _Fuck._ Now he’s got a boner in the weight room, as if his life wasn’t ridiculous enough. He’s so focused on making it go away—which naturally just makes it worse—that he loses track of what Brandon’s doing until he’s standing over him, saying something.

Adam nearly falls off the rowing machine and Brandon’s eyebrows lift.

“Okay there?”

Adam clears his throat. “Sure. Yep.” His voice is a rusty croak. Brandon’s shirt is damp and clinging to him, every tantalizing curve of his abdomen outlined under it and this is _not helping the boner situation._

Brandon glances down and his brows go up a fraction more. Adam kind of wants to die. Neither of them say anything for a minute, and then Brandon’s lips quirk.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“I, uh—sure,” Adam says weakly.

“Come over whenever you’re ready,” Brandon tells him, and leaves Adam wondering just how the hell he’s supposed to escape fifteen other guys while rocking a stiffy.

 

Thankfully, the problem resolves itself fairly quickly once Brandon’s gone, and Adam’s able to get the hell out, opting to shower at home, even though that choice earns him some side-eyes on the way back to his place.

Safely barricaded in his apartment that he’s seen very little of over the past month, Adam heads straight for the bathroom. His dick is already fattening up again as he steps into the shower stall and he glares at it. Sometimes it’s a downright pain to be in his sexual prime. Thankfully it doesn’t take long—it never does, these days—and Adam is left shaky-legged and panting, clinging to the shower door.

He feels better with that out of the way, his head clearer and more focused. He’s hoping he can get Brandon to agree to a makeout session on the couch, and this will help him focus on just kissing Brandon and not needing to get off immediately.

Brandon replies to his text asking if he should bring anything with _nope,_ which is about as chatty as he ever gets over the phone, so Adam pulls on comfortable faded jeans and a soft, long-sleeved shirt and heads out.

He lets himself into the building and nods at little Mrs. Tranh on the stairs. She beams at him and says something incomprehensible in Vietnamese. Adam smiles back at her, lifting both hands helplessly, and she laughs, patting his arm.

“Go Jets,” she says clearly, and winks at him before tottering down the hall toward her apartment.

Adam knocks on Brandon’s door with something simmering in the pit of his stomach, a mixture of excitement, urgency, and nerves. It’s weird, he thinks as he hears Brandon approaching—they’ve been close for a long time, but everything still feels so new, familiar but strange at the same time, like a favorite blanket in a different material.

Brandon swings the door open and smiles up at him and Adam grins back, helpless against the kick of his heart.

“Gonna come in or just stand there?” Brandon inquires, one corner of his mouth ticking a little higher, and Adam steps inside the delicious-smelling apartment.

Brandon shuts the door behind him and Adam looks him over. Brandon is wearing a Jets T-shirt and jeans. There’s a smear of flour on one cheekbone and his hair is rumpled, eyes soft with warmth.

Adam reaches for him without thinking and Brandon goes willingly, backing Adam against the door and leaning up to kiss him. His hands are on Adam’s chest to balance himself, and Adam wraps both arms around his waist as their mouths slot together.

Brandon tastes like garlic and wine, solid and _right_ in Adam’s arms. He kisses like there’s nothing else he ever wants to do, tongue soft and his lips fitting so perfectly against Adam’s.

Until he tears away and belts for the kitchen, swearing, and leaves Adam dazed against the door.

When Adam remembers how his legs work and makes it into the kitchen, Brandon is pulling a dish out of the oven, muttering to himself.

“Did it burn?” Adam asks, sliding onto a stool and stealing one of the baby carrots waiting, presumably, to be diced.

“No, just a little dry around the edges,” Brandon mutters, poking at it.

“What is it?” Adam inquires.

“Shepherd’s pie,” Brandon says. “And don’t worry, there’s nothing in it you won’t eat.” A dimple flashes in his cheek. “Although I can blindfold you if you want.”

God, he’s perfect. It chokes Adam suddenly, swelling up in his chest, and he swallows the carrot and clears his throat. Brandon glances up, concern knitting his brow.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam croaks, and dredges up a smile. “You gonna let me help?”

“No,” Brandon says immediately. “You’ll chop a finger off.”

“Only a problem if it’s _my_ finger,” Adam points out, and Brandon snickers and pours him a glass of wine.

“Sit there while I make the salad.”

 

It’s comfortably domestic, watching Brandon assemble the salad and hum to himself. He checks in with Adam several times before adding ingredients. Adam is dubious about the pear slices and blue cheese, but Brandon gives him a pleading look and somehow Adam finds himself taking a bite.

“Holy shit,” he says through the mouthful. The sweetness of the pear combines perfectly with the nutty tang of the blue cheese, and the raspberry vinaigrette and walnuts are a sweet bite that blend with the leafy greens into something truly delicious. “Is this in our diet plan?”

“Yep,” Brandon says smugly, and loads their plates but instead of going to the sofa, leads them to the table tucked away in the tiny breakfast nook. Where he sets the plates down, digs a lighter out of his pocket, and lights a candle Adam hadn’t noticed.

Adam blinks and stares as Brandon turns around. Adam’s got his mouth open, ready to chirp him, when he registers the look on Brandon’s face—defensive and on edge with it, chin tipped up and shoulders tight.

“We are never telling the guys about this,” Adam says, and Brandon relaxes minutely.

“I don’t have a death wish.” He gestures for Adam to sit.

They eat sitting across from each other and it’s delicious, but better than the food is the way the candlelight flickers across Brandon’s face, painting his high cheekbones in streaks of gold and casting his deep-set eyes into shadows.

There’s not much talking. The food’s too good and Adam’s discovered his appetite. He goes back for seconds while Brandon is finishing his first plate.

“It’s not going anywhere,” Brandon remarks, sounding amused.

Adam doesn’t bother to reply, his mouth already full, and Brandon laughs softly into his wine glass.

He watches Adam eat for a few minutes, fist propped on his hand, and then stands and takes his plate into the kitchen. He comes back with the wine bottle and tops up both glasses, then settles back in opposite Adam.

Adam watches him for a minute, admiring the play of light on his face. Brandon lets him look, amusement in the quirk of his eyebrows, and sips his wine.

“You’re beautiful,” Adam says suddenly, and Brandon twitches and spills wine all down his front. He jumps to his feet, swearing, and Adam can’t help the laughter. Brandon’s shirt is drenched, red with wine from the collar to the hem, and he grabs the back of his shirt and hauls it over his head.

Adam’s laughter cuts off like a switch. Brandon’s not looking at him, busy mopping wine and muttering under his breath, and Adam’s free to _really_ look his fill, so he does. Adam’s seen how hard Brandon works on his body. It shows in the defined muscles of his abs, the lean sloping muscle of his shoulders and the plane of his stomach. His skin is golden in the candlelight, and he is perfectly, heartstoppingly, beautiful.

Brandon snaps his fingers under Adam’s nose and Adam jerks.

“What? Sorry, what?”

Brandon’s lips twitch. He’s dropped the sodden T-shirt on the linoleum and he pushes Adam’s chair sideways with a foot, tugging him out from under the table and straddling him in one swift move.

Adam’s eyes maybe cross a bit as Brandon settles on his thighs.

“Um,” he says eloquently.

Brandon is distractingly heavy, pressed right up against Adam’s groin, and Adam realizes with distinct despair that he’s already getting hard again. Fuck his life, honestly.

Brandon tugs Adam’s T-shirt from his jeans and slips both hands under it, fanning his fingers over Adam’s stomach. His touch is soft and a little ticklish, and Adam twitches, but Brandon’s leaning in to kiss him as his hands begin to rove, and Adam is very okay with the way this evening is shaping up.

He’s gripping the seat of the chair with both hands as Brandon kisses him and explores his chest, white-knuckling the frame to keep from—Adam’s not even sure what he’d do. Too much, he thinks, too much too fast, and so he doesn’t let go even as he kisses back, letting Brandon tilt his head for the best angle and lick deep into his mouth.

Brandon makes a dissatisfied noise and lifts his head. Adam can’t quite focus and he still doesn’t trust himself to let go, so he blinks until Brandon’s not as blurry and leans up to try to kiss him again, but Brandon leans away.

Adam whines, a noise he’d be embarrassed about if his entire body wasn’t focused on getting Brandon’s mouth _right the fuck back on his._

“Shh,” Brandon says. He trails a finger down Adam’s throat and Adam shudders, eyes slipping closed. “Why aren’t you touching me?” Brandon murmurs.

Adam’s powers of speech deserted him a while ago and he just shakes his head blindly. He’s burning up with need, lit from within, and shaking with the effort of holding still.

Brandon kisses him then, a soft brush of his lips along Adam’s jaw. “Talk to me,” he orders gently.

Adam makes a massive effort to gather enough brain cells to put words together. “Can’t,” he manages.

“Can’t talk to me or can’t touch me?” Brandon asks. His tone is mildly inquisitive; he doesn’t sound angry or disappointed, so Adam opens his eyes. Brandon smiles down at him. “I’d think you weren’t into this, but—” He brushes Adam’s erection and Adam jolts, another thin whine falling from him. “Yeah. You’re into this. So why aren’t you touching me?”

“B,” Adam whispers. All he can think about is Brandon’s mouth back on his, Brandon _touching_ him again, touching him properly, but it’s obvious even through the haze of lust that Brandon’s not doing anything else until he gets an explanation. Adam swallows several times. “I don’t—don’t wanna—”

“Don’t want to what?” Brandon asks, and he’s drawing away, face closing off and _no,_ Adam can’t bear that, he grasps desperately for him with both hands to keep him where he is. Brandon stops and Adam lets go immediately, grabbing the chair again.

“Please,” Adam begs. “Just—please. Kiss me?”

Brandon presses their foreheads together instead. “You gotta talk to me, baby,” he whispers, and Adam’s heart seizes in his chest, twists in a knot.

“I think I might love you,” he gasps, helpless to stop the words tumbling from his mouth, and Brandon’s eyes widen. He cups Adam’s face in both hands, thumbing across his cheekbones.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

Adam shrugs, or nods, or does something vaguely affirmative that doesn’t require advanced motor control, and Brandon laughs quietly.

“You’re a mess,” he says, and he sounds _fond._ “Tell me why you’re so into kissing me but you won’t touch me, then.”

“I—” Adam gropes for words. “You wanted to go slow. I want—so much, B, but I—you wanted to go slow. So.”

Brandon’s brow wrinkles as he parses the jumbled words into something resembling an explanation. “You think I’m going to be, what—spooked?”

Adam’s shrug is as nonverbal and ineloquent as before.

“I’m not a horse,” Brandon says, and his mouth is curving in a smile. “I think I can manage your hands on me.”

“Don’t want to push you,” Adam mutters. Brandon shifts his weight and loops his arms around Adam’s neck. His breath is warm when he sighs.

“You’re an idiot,” he says.

“Hey.” Adam’s too distracted by how close Brandon’s mouth is to muster true outrage, but an effort has to be made.

Brandon’s still smiling at him. “Adam. I’m going to get up, and we’re going into the bedroom, and we’re going to get naked. And then you’re going to touch me. Okay?”

Adam’s mouth is the Sahara. Just the _thought_ has him impossibly harder, straining against the zipper of his jeans. “‘Kay,” he croaks, and Brandon’s laughing at him as he stands up but Adam doesn’t care.

He follows him down the hall and into the bedroom.

 

Inside, Brandon turns to face him, drawing Adam across the room and up to the bed. He’s still shirtless, which Adam feels is an unreasonable imbalance of power, and he has a glint in his eyes that makes Adam gulp.

“Take your shirt off,” he orders.

Adam obeys with fingers that are slightly numb. Brandon hums approvingly when he’s bare from the waist up.

“God, you’re like… unfairly hot,” he says. “Do you remember our first night together?”

Of course Adam remembers. He’s jacked off to the memory many times, the way Brandon had twitched and shuddered and made those little choked noises when he came. He nods, and they share a smile, dark and secretive.

Brandon takes a step closer and hooks a finger into Adam’s belt loop. He tugs and Adam goes easily, so they’re toe to toe, chests pressed together. Or chest to abdomen, at least, he thinks, and suppresses a grin. It’s not Brandon’s fault he’s fun-sized.

There are hands working at his belt buckle, tugging it open and popping the button free. Adam groans with relief when the zipper comes down and he’s finally free.

“Jesus,” Brandon says, his eyes going wide. “You’re so wet, oh my god.”

Adam spares a glance at his underwear and the familiar damp patch. It seems about the usual amount, and he says so.

Brandon just shakes his head as if in disbelief and skims his knuckles over the head of Adam’s cock. Adam’s hips jolt forward and he grabs at the bed frame to steady himself.

“B,” he chokes. “What happened, _ah—”_ Brandon thumbs his cock again, teasing pressure that just makes him leak more. Adam drags air in through his nose. “What happened to slow?” he says in a rush before all English deserts him.

Brandon looks up at him, brows drawing together over his nose. It makes him look like a bird of prey, fierce and deadly, and Adam wants to kiss him but he holds still, waiting for an answer.

 _“Fuck_ slow,” Brandon spits. “I want you, Adam. I want you to fucking _touch_ me. Okay? I want those huge goddamned hands all _over_ my body so would you _please get on with it.”_

Adam lunges, bearing Brandon over backward onto the bed. They hit with a bounce, Adam on Brandon’s hips, and he’s already struggling with Brandon’s pants, which have a weird closure that he can’t—quite—he snarls in wordless frustration and Brandon laughs breathlessly as he covers Adam’s hands with his own.

“Easy, tiger.” Two quick flicks of his fingers and he lifts his hands away, letting Adam draw the zipper down. Brandon arches his back and sighs as the denim is peeled away from his hips, which he lifts so Adam can drag the jeans down his legs and off.

Adam drops an elbow to either side of Brandon’s head and leans in to kiss him. It’s hot and demanding this time, surging wildly with everything Adam’s been suppressing for the past month, and Brandon gasps against his mouth and pulls him closer. He hooks an ankle around Adam’s hips and tugs, until Adam lowers himself on top of him.

Like this, their cocks line up and Adam moans, rolling his hips as Brandon plants a foot on the bed and rocks up against him.

Brandon’s running his hands over Adam’s back as they kiss and it’s good, it’s wildly, mindblowingly good, but Adam wants _more._ He breaks away, Brandon groaning in protest and groping for him, and goes back to his knees.

He looks down and goes nonverbal briefly at the sight of Brandon flushed and disheveled beneath him, panting open-mouthed as he stares up at him.

“What—” Brandon starts.

“You wanted my hands on you,” Adam says. “So shut up, unless you’re gonna talk while I do that?”

“I could if you wanted me to,” Brandon says dryly, but he puts his arms behind his head and closes his mouth.

Adam just looks for a long minute, sitting on Brandon’s thighs, until Brandon twitches with impatience. Then Adam touches Brandon’s chest, drags a finger down the hard bumps of his abs, over the curvature of his bones. Brandon is soft skin and steely muscle, powerful in a way not many players his size were, and it’s obvious why, with the hours he spends in the gym and on the ice.

Adam bends and licks a stripe along Brandon’s collarbone. It doesn’t taste like much, but the reaction he gets—the stifled gasp and rolled hips—that’s good. That’s _really_ good. Adam licks him again and then blows on the wet skin, and Brandon moans. Adam smiles against his chest and starts exploring in earnest.

He loses track of everything outside of Brandon underneath him, so beautifully responsive to Adam’s every touch, twitching and stifling gasps and clearly holding himself back from touching Adam in return.

Adam lifts his head. “You can touch me too.”

“Oh thank God,” Brandon pants, and reaches for him.

Adam huffs a laugh against the hand Brandon puts on his face, pressing a kiss to the palm. Brandon smiles at him, sliding his hand up into Adam’s hair and cupping his skull.

“Put your mouth on me,” he says, and Adam groans, dropping his head to Brandon’s chest. He can feel Brandon’s heartbeat pattering rapidly under his ear.

“Of course you’re bossy in bed too.” Adam kisses the closest ridge of muscle and slides down the bed until he’s between Brandon’s knees.

Here, he takes his time, pulling Brandon’s underwear off and tossing them over the edge of the bed, then sitting back and running his hands appreciatively down Brandon’s thighs. They bulge with lean, corded muscle, and Adam decides he could do this all day, trace the dips and valleys of sinew and ligament, feeling the hairs under his fingers curling softly as he drags his hands along them.

Brandon twists and kicks him in the ribs with a heel. Adam grunts and catches his foot before he can do it again.

“The fu—”

“Mouth. On me. _Now.”_

Adam laughs out loud and Brandon scowls and tries to kick him again, but Adam still has a hand loosely wrapped around his ankle, and he hangs on effortlessly.

“Get _on_ with it, Lowry,” Brandon says. He makes as if to bring his other foot up and Adam pins his knee to the mattress.

“So goddamn demanding,” Adam says, but he obeys.

Brandon tastes bitter and musky on his tongue and he makes a noise deep in his chest as Adam sucks him down.

It’s been a while, so he doesn’t push himself past his limits, taking it slow and giving his muscles time to relax. This way, he has more time to explore the flared ridges of Brandon’s cock, the satin skin and the vein that runs up the underside of his shaft. Adam goes slow, memorizing him in a way he hadn’t gotten to the first time they’d done this, his whole world Brandon’s cock in his mouth and Brandon clutching at his hair, rolling his hips in an effort to get more friction but still so careful not to choke him.

Adam definitely loves him. He sinks to the hilt, relaxing his throat, and works him over until Brandon’s noises are getting urgent and his hands are punishingly tight in Adam’s hair.

 _“Stop,”_ he gasps, and Adam scowls but lifts his head.

Brandon’s chest is flushed and heaving, spots of color burning high in his cheeks. He opens and closes his mouth, clearly struggling for words, and Adam can’t help the smug grin. Brandon tries to glare but it’s a weak effort.

“You,” he finally wheezes, “are a menace, Adam Lowry.”

Adam can’t help but preen. “Still got it,” he says, wiping his mouth.

Brandon stretches up above his head and Adam’s briefly distracted by his lean chest. He’s not prepared for Brandon to shove a bottle of lube at him, and he promptly drops it. Brandon’s eyebrows go up.

“You know what it’s for, right?”

“Fuck off, I’m not a virgin.” Adam retrieves the lube from the sheets and inspects it. “What did you have in mind?”

Brandon’s stare is almost challenging. “Your dick inside me.”

 _Oh God._ Adam coughs. “Not, uh… the other way around?”

Brandon’s eyes narrow and he rolls upright in one swift move, kneeling in front of Adam. He leans in, putting a hand on Adam’s chest.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, and Adam tucks his chin, looking down and away.

“I don’t care,” he mutters. “I just want—” _You,_ he doesn’t say. He’s not quite that pathetic yet.

Brandon cups his face in a warm, dry hand and waits until Adam looks up at him. “I would very much like to fuck you at some point,” he says gently. “But right now, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any dicks inside me, let alone one as nice as yours. So do you think you can fuck me this time?”

Adam brackets his wrist with loose fingers and they smile at each other for a minute. Then Brandon pulls away, shuffling up the bed to grab a pillow. He lies down on his back and shoves it under his hips, then beckons, dark eyes hot with promise.

Adam gulps and goes to him.

“I’ll start,” Brandon tells him, holding out a hand for the lube. “My hands are smaller than yours. Then you can take over.”

 

Adam is spellbound, watching as Brandon coats one finger and slides it down behind his balls to press at his entrance. The furrow is back between his brows, full lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes staring sightlessly into the middle distance as his finger slips inside.

“Ah—” Brandon’s lashes flutter closed briefly and he waits a few seconds before pushing deeper.

Adam’s never seen anything more beautiful than his boyfriend getting himself ready for him, first one finger, then two, a flush darkening his chest and crawling up his throat as he writhes, leaking onto his own belly.

“Can I—” He doesn’t know what he’s asking, but Brandon seems to.

“You can touch,” he says breathlessly. “Just not my cock or this’ll be over too soon.”

Adam grins at him and runs his palms over Brandon’s muscled thighs, eyes still fixed on the fingers sliding in and out. He can’t help reaching out, touching the rim of Brandon’s stretched hole, and Brandon makes a stifled noise.

“Put it inside,” he gasps.

Adam takes a deep breath, willing himself not to blow, and obeys. Brandon’s entrance is slick with lube and Adam’s finger slips inside past the second knuckle immediately. It’s tight and hot and wet around him, Brandon’s fingers pressed against his, and Adam pushes deeper, suddenly impatient.

Brandon’s back bows off the bed, free hand scrabbling at the sheets. “Fuck, _fuck,”_ he chants, but shakes his head when Adam tries to stop. “Keep going, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop, dammit—”

Adam grabs himself, gripping his cock punishingly tight and thinking about Corsi in a desperate attempt to distract himself. It works but only barely as Brandon’s ribs heave, his body stretching to accommodate the intrusion.

“Okay,” Brandon rasps after a few minutes. He pulls his hand free and Adam follows suit. Brandon sits up and drags Adam down into a filthy kiss, lips and tongue hot and demanding. Then he pushes until Adam’s sitting down, legs stretched out in front of him, and Brandon can straddle him, which he does with a wicked grin. “I’m gonna ride you,” he informs him.

Adam’s very onboard with this idea. He stays sitting up, every inch of his skin aching to be in contact with Brandon’s body, watching as Brandon gets in position. His tongue is peeking from between his teeth, that frown of concentration back, and Adam braces himself on his hands and offers no help whatsoever. Something tells him Brandon wouldn’t accept it anyway.

The first touch of Brandon’s hand to his cock has him hissing between his teeth. _Plus/minus, Don Cherry, oh fuck don’t do it Lowry, Gary Bettman naked—_

Brandon slicks him up quick and careless, making Adam’s eyes cross at the feeling, and then he lowers his hips, eyes lost in concentration again.

Adam stares into his face, tracing the beautiful wings of his eyebrows, the sweet, tantalizing shape of his mouth, and then the head of his cock has slipped inside and they both gasp. Brandon stares down at him, mouth hanging slightly open, frozen in place.

“You okay?” Adam thinks distantly that he deserves a medal for managing to get two coherent words out in a row.

Brandon looks faintly surprised but he nods. Then his mouth firms and he sinks down another inch.

Despite the prep, he’s deliriously tight, feverhot around Adam’s shaft, and Adam decides that if this is how he’s going to die, then he can make his peace with that. He keeps his eyes trained on Brandon’s face, and Brandon’s lips curve as he lifts up briefly and then drops lower.

“You feel so good,” he whispers. “I knew you would. I’ve been dreaming about this. Thinking about you inside me— _ah_ —God, Adam—”

The silence is aching and breathless when he comes to rest on Adam’s pelvis, sheathing him fully.

Adam squeezes his eyes shut. It’s so much, Brandon so close, every sensation roaring through him like a freight train, and he knows he’s going to embarrass himself horribly at any second.

Brandon rocks his hips experimentally and Adam groans, the noise startlingly loud in the quiet bedroom. He grips the sheet, knowing if he touches Brandon right now it will snap his resolve, and hangs on for dear life as Brandon lifts himself up and then drops all the way down again. This time they both groan and Brandon bends forward to press his forehead to Adam’s. His breath is ragged, smelling like wine as it gusts across Adam’s cheek.

“Okay?” he whispers.

Adam thinks he manages a nod or something similar, because Brandon’s lips curve again before he kisses him.

Then he sits up.

Adam’s seen how hard Brandon works on his body, the hours he spends in the gym, on the field and the ice honing every muscle, developing his core strength, his balance and flexibility. He knows Brandon’s body is a work of art but he’s never experienced it like this, the way Brandon keeps himself in exquisite control as he rides him, eyes drooping and teeth caught in his lip.

He can’t catch his breath, the _tight_ and _heat_ and slick slide overpowering every thought in his head. Brandon’s cock rubs against Adam’s belly and Adam wishes he had the motor control necessary to grip it and stroke, but he’s barely managing to keep it together as it is.

Brandon shifts his angle and nearly sobs, head falling back. His thighs are still working, lifting him up and dropping him down in agonizing slow motion. “Adam,” he chokes out. “Adam—”

“Yeah,” Adam manages. With a superhuman effort of will, he unclenches his fist from the bedding and gets it around Brandon’s cock. He strokes, fast and sloppy, probably doing it all wrong but too desperate to care.

Brandon curls forward with a shocked noise on the third upstroke of Adam’s wrist, hot come splattering Adam’s belly as he clenches tight around his cock. Adam’s eyes slam shut and he follows, feeling as though he’s being turned inside out and made anew as the pleasure shivers through him.

Then he collapses backward onto the bed, arms no longer able to support him and Brandon following him down to sprawl across his chest.

Adam’s heaving air like a racehorse and Brandon doesn’t sound much better, a boneless lump on top of him, his hair tickling Adam’s chin.

They lie quietly like that for several minutes. Adam thinks vaguely that he’d be happy to sleep exactly like this, even with Brandon so solid and heavy on top of him, and he moans in protest when Brandon stirs and lifts his head.

His hair is sticking up at all angles, his eyes still dazed, but his smile is sweet when he finds Adam’s gaze, and he bends and kisses him, mouth languorous and soft.

 

Some people might not see that Brandon is the most beautiful person in the world, but that doesn’t matter to Adam, because he knows the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [Tanevies](http://tanevies.tumblr.com), who kept posting the above gifs of Brandon at training camp and basically tortured me into writing this. Y'all should follow for quality Brandam content.
> 
> Real people, work of fiction, no disrespect intended.


End file.
